I once saw a bear fly. No kidding. Actually it was a mix of wolverine, wolf, squirrel, seal and reindeer. But from a distance it really did look like a bear.
It all started one Thanksgiving in Chicago--1975. I was home from college for the holiday. My father's three nephews from Golovin, Alaska were also there. Golovin was my father's birthplace--90 miles east of Nome on the Seward Peninsula. Like my father, my cousins Donny, Koke and David were 1/2 Eskimo. They were going to school in Duluth and would spend an occasional holiday with us.
Golovin, Alaska:
My cousins were bush pilots and would fly anything with wings--propeller optional. The day after Thanksgiving, I accompanied them to a small local airport were they rented gliders for the day. If they had gone spark plug shopping I would have happily followed. They were independent, mysterious and exotic to me and I wanted to be with them as much as possible. I was raised a suburban girl and I hoped I would learn and absorb something of the Eskimo father I knew little about.
I grew up knowing I was 1/4 Eskimo but my knowledge of "Eskimo" went no further. My father didn't talk about himself or his life growing up in Alaska. Was it "un-Eskimo" to talk about oneself? Was his life too painful to talk about? Was his life in Alaska so different from the one he lived in Chicago that he felt his family could never understand? I didn't know, but I was willing to find out even if it meant following my cousins around like a puppy dog.
We found a nearby airport that rented gliders and while my cousins took turns gliding, soaring, circling and loopdy-looping, I was more than content to stand for hours in the sun watching them from below.
Glider:
(to be continued) copyright 2008 Tamara Ann Burgh, all rights reserved
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